


The Art of Survival

by days4daisy



Category: Dominion (TV)
Genre: David Whele's winning parenting, I'm Sorry, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-10 01:24:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2005665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>William Whele is a survivor, just like his father.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Survival

**Author's Note:**

> General spoilers for Dominion Season 1, especially episode 1x03 on.
> 
> I actually really like this pairing. This is why I shouldn't have nice things...

If William has learned one thing from his father, it is to survive at all costs. His father survived the Extinction War, and William has survived his father.

His life, in the wake of battle, has known relative peace besides living in the shadow of David Whele. But this peace, William knows, is short-lived. And humanity's upper hand will be brief. 

His will to survive guides him to the pulpit. Desperation grows in him like a violent passion. It is this passion that inspires his flock, drawing tears of love and hope for the Savior child that will surely come. The Archangel's words will be proven true.

But William’s faith wavers. What being is there that can combat the forces of Gabriel?

He has become a salesman like his father, selling a future that he no longer trusts. And what a salesman William is. His smile is otherworldly, his carefree joy almost inhuman.

His father is not the only one who shuns him. Everyone does - the other youth and the dignitaries who grace the city at lavish events. William is idolized by his followers, revered for his outward shows of charity and faith. But he is too good at the image. As adored as he is, he is also feared as an unreachable standard. Unattainable purity.

It is on lonely days that William explores the tunnels that stretch to the outer walls of Vega. He finds ways that are undetected, and he does so easily. The son of David Whele naturally understands the ins and outs of the city, its strength and its blindness. He breaches Vega's security with an ease that would make his father proud, if his father were capable of the emotion.

He does not know what he seeks outside the walls. Answers? Can there be an ultimate answer outside of Vega, beyond the protection of the Archangel Michael? Apart from Saviorism?

Outside the walls, Gabriel finds him. Or, perhaps, he finds Gabriel.

The avenging angel regards him with a cool smugness that should chill William to his core. With a smirk, the higher being displays his otherworldly confidence. He is better than William, better than all mankind. Better, too, than his brother Michael despite his momentary setback.

Gabriel can kill William with his smallest finger, William knows this. But, in this moment, William is not afraid. He gazes upon the angel with sudden clarity. This is his answer. This is his salvation.

Gabriel is used to fear. When he does not receive it, his interest draws him closer. "The orator," he greets, casually waving a hand. "And what, I wonder, is the principate doing beyond the circle of his flock?"

"You know me." William follows the angel’s movements steadily, but he cannot hide his surprise.

"And you know me," Gabriel replies, amused. "Why, then, does a priest of Vega not fear the death that stands before him?"

William does not hesitate. "I can help you."

Gabriel laughs outright. " _Help_ me? What help do I need from you, boy?"

"I can help you," William repeats. His tone does not waver. "There are others that will follow you too. In Vega. Outside of it."

Gabriel regards him with a mocking grin, but his eyes are thoughtful. He understands William's point. And he must admit, there is merit to the plan. One loyal man acting as his eyes and ears within his brother's domain…

"You would need to prove your loyalty to me," Gabriel says.

Many things are implied in his words. Terrible things.

William nods. Terrible things are to be expected when a man becomes a traitor.

***

William says nothing when the blindfold is tied across his eyes. He stands in the angel's chamber, a grand hall in the mountainside that has housed swarming armies of Eightballs. Now, it is empty save himself and Gabriel. William's shirt has been removed, folded neatly and draped atop Gabriel's throne.

A thick, golden sash is wound around his torso. William sets his teeth. Something cold and hard is at his back.

He could be killed, right now. But he will not be.

William reminds himself to trust. Sometimes, trust is necessary for survival. After all, as a boy he trusted his father. His childish faith is the only reason his head was not crushed by the bloody hammer that night.

His father does not think he remembers. William wishes he could forget. The memory has haunted his nightmares ever since he grew old enough to dream.

"You are bound by golden thread," Gabriel says. "It will represent my promise to you, and to your acolytes. This promise will be difficult and painful in its binding."

The object at his back twists, and the sash around his ribs tightens ever so slightly. It is a sweet pressure, like an embrace.

William thinks of Claire, her enduring friendship in a sea of indifference. The gentle touch of her hands. Her smile, her laugh.

How would it feel, he wonders, to act upon his boyish fantasies and wrap his arms around her? And what if she were to return his embrace, let him feel the warm promise of her body against his?

The promise of pain.

Again, the object twists against the small of his back. The sash tightens. William's breath catches in his throat.

"It is a mark," Gabriel murmurs, "that will save you, boy."

Would William be here now if his father had embraced him just once in his life? If David Whele had ever let him believe he was a worthy son?

"Where one breaks..." The object twists. "One becomes strong." The angel stands close to him, exhales on his bare shoulder. William does not need his sight to feel Gabriel's hungry eyes swallowing his body. 

"Where one is strong, we will all be strong." Gabriel speaks the words into his neck, a fleeting whisper of his promise. Protection in the wake of world-shattering annihilation.

"We are not the weak," Gabriel tells him. "For it is pain that makes us strong."

The object twists, and bones break. William cries out. Agony stabs behind his eyes. "Be strong, my orator," Gabriel says. "I do not favor the frail."

He gives the object a final twist. Tears soak into William's blindfold. It is only Gabriel's hands that keep William upright. When they release him, he cracks bonelessly to the floor.

William's breaths rasp painfully. But he does not pass out. His body keeps him awake, torturing him.

William curls against his knees. This agony, it is the strongest thing William has ever felt.

The strongest thing anyone has allowed him to feel.

"Are you angry with me, principate?" Gabriel sounds smug. He looks down at the shattered body with a smirk.

William pushes himself across the stone ground, hissing with every movement. He swallows back the nausea rising hot in his throat.

Impatiently, he rips off the blindfold, revealing wet, swollen eyes. He looks up at Gabriel, teeth gritted. Then, he bends and presses his lips to the top of Gabriel's boot.

The angel is not one to be surprised. But even he steps back, his foot removed from William's touch. William crawls after him insistently. Arms shaking, he lowers his head and kisses Gabriel's foot again.

"Thank you," he whispers, "for your promise."

***

His betrayal would be plain to anyone who cared to look. His torso is ringed with bruises. And after the bruises fade, they are replaced with the bloody marks of the whip. The lashes remind the orator to whom he is devoted, whom he will serve selflessly until the final battle is waged.

William's steps through Vega are slow and unsteady. Pain dims even his brightest smiles.

But no one sees. His congregation adores him without concern. They do not see him wince when they reach for his robes and kiss his hands. They do not catch the way his breath hitches when he takes a wrong step, or look upon him with worry when his voice wavers during his sermons.

The dignitaries do not see, blinded by his cultured polish. His ability to wear a tuxedo and smile without care are beautifully camouflaging.

The poor wretches of the lower castes take his handouts with thankful hearts, but never with a keen eye. 

And his father does not notice. His father has noticed nothing about him since the night his mother was killed.

Only Claire stops him one afternoon. Her head is tilted curiously, and he is forced to meet her gaze. "William." She says his name like a question.

He smiles at her, but the expression wavers. Deep down, he has never wanted to hide from her. His pain is there, asking to be discovered.

She takes his hands in hers so suddenly that William sucks in a breath. Everything is on the tip of his tongue. It would be so easy to tell her, if she would care about him just enough to let him be his true, desperate self.

"You're a wonderful speaker," Claire says. She smiles and releases his hands.

Claire does not care enough to see.

William retreats under his boyhood mask. He laughs and looks down at his shoes before meeting her eyes again. "It's not me," he insists. "It's my faith, Claire. The Chosen One is real. He will save us. I know it in my heart."

He is her William again. The friend. The believer. The boy with no secrets.

Claire nods, pleased, and takes her leave. She is satisfied with her William. There is no need to uncover what hides beneath.

***

The only one who sees him is Gabriel. He strips William to his bare skin, his bruises and scars exposed in the chilled air.

Gabriel watches him writhe on the floor, fragile human flesh and bloody wounds. He drinks in William’s cries when he brings the whip down on his back again, and again.

William is weak. He is determined.

"Do I have your hatred yet, my dear orator?" the angel asks.

William gasps. Blood slips from the wounds on his back.

But he drags himself across the floor and presses his lips to Gabriel's boot. “Thank you," he stammers, voice barely audible.

"You are a curious thing," Gabriel says. He steps back from William and seats himself upon his throne. William stays where he is, cringing as he forces himself to his knees.

"Pain strengthens some men," the angel muses. "This, I see plainly. It is supposed to cripple them. That is how Father designed you, as a safety guard. To keep your kind from...behaving badly."

A foolish man would balk at this trivializing of humanity, a mockery of their very creation. William says nothing. He does not miss the angel's nod. Appreciative, or perhaps more curious than before.

"I see the strength in you, my orator. But it is not the strength I've seen before from your kind. That...desire for power." Gabriel makes a thoughtful sound, his eyes scanning William's kneeling, bloody form. "You seek power, yes. But it is not the power your kind is wont to seek."

"I have the power I want," William says. Given his condition, his voice is admirably steady.

"Ah yes, your status within my brother's desert haven." Gabriel scoffs. "I have seen the design of his city. You are due for a mighty seat yourself, as your father's successor. Men and their meaningless shows of authority. Kingdoms erected for the sake of enslaving themselves. Your race is so predictable, so _dull_."

William again says nothing. But the mention of his father makes him tense.

Gabriel notices, of course. He watches William more closely than anyone in his life ever has.

"Ah, so it is a different power you seek," he says. "To become more powerful than your father."

William should say that becoming powerful is irrelevant. William is a better man than his father has ever been, or will ever be. This conviction is all the power he needs.

But he can't lie. Not here.

"Yes," William replies.

Gabriel raises a brow at the simplicity of the answer. "A curious creature indeed."

But, of course, Gabriel understands him better than anyone would. He, who was abandoned by his own Father. Left to avenge Him, to grope blindly in His absence. He will stop at nothing to prove himself right, no matter how many lives he has to take.

Gabriel raises a hand and beckons him. William stands without a word. Pain flares from his torn back, but he does not voice his discomfort. He kneels beside the angel's throne and waits.

Gabriel grips William's chin and pulls his face up roughly. William flinches but does not shrink away. The angel looks at him closely.

It would be so easy for Gabriel to move his hand to William's neck and snap it like a delicate branch. To what end, William thinks, with no God to believe in? Only darkness? Nothing?

But Gabriel does not end William. He covers his orator's mouth with his own. William stumbles over his own blood-stained knees, his hands shakily gripping the angel's thighs. His unsteady legs settle between Gabriel's, balanced against the front of his throne.

Gabriel's arm wraps around his shoulders, holding him close. His mouth plunders all he desires, all an angel could possibly want from a human. The act is not one of love. It is possession, power. He takes to prove that he can. 

Gabriel is stronger than William can ever hope to be. For once in William’s life, there is no reason to pretend to be in control. He can simply exist.

His weakness will make him strong.

***

"One day, son." David Whele senses the sudden fire in his son. He is drawn to the flame, lured by power his entire life. "One day, Vega will be yours to rule. Lord of the City."

In days past, William would have bent to his father's mildest show of affection. But his new found allegiance keeps him cold and unmoved. "Church business," he says, walking to the door.

His father smothers his disgust behind a sip of brandy. "I can only hope you outgrow these fairy tales. It's an embarrassment, William."

"When the Chosen One is revealed, father," William smiles, "we'll see who the embarrassment is." He nods towards David's stunned face and takes his leave.

***

His Black Acolytes grow in numbers under the shroud of nighttime and secrecy. Meetings with the angel become more staggered, time stretching between contact.

William's faith does not waver. The desire for their next encounter only makes him stronger, more ruthless. And his followers, in turn, devote their bodies and souls to him. The ribs of men and women are broken. Backs are whipped. They read, pray, and prepare themselves for the final days of war, when Gabriel will mount his offensive and lay ruin to what remains of mankind.

William never slips at the head of the congregation of Saviorism. If anything, his dedication becomes stronger in his deceit. His lies flow sweeter, and his smiles grow seductive. There is power behind his words, a confident light replacing his blind desperation.

His flock is drawn to his magnetism. They reach for him, and they cry. "Bless you," they whisper, overcome by his presence.

He smiles to them. Yes, he is truly blessed.

***

"I would very much like to burn those robes of yours," Gabriel says. 

Confidence has made William bold. "With me inside them, I wonder," he replies lightly, teasing.

Gabriel does not look pleased. William's smile fades.

"It is true, then," Gabriel murmurs. "I've allowed you to forget your place, dear orator."

Without pause, William removes his shirt and turns to accept the lash of the angel's whip.

It does not come, but William waits motionless for a long while. If he turns, he fully expects the whip to cross his face, or to feel some other pain that he does not expect. The whip is agonizing, but it is a familiar pain. Comforting, in a strange way.

But he finally has to look, unable to take not knowing any longer. Gabriel is still watching him. He does not hold his whip. But he does hold a dagger, the hilt jeweled with rubies. William's new found strength cannot stop his eyes from widening with alarm.

"Turn to me," Gabriel says.

William does as he asks, but he also closes his eyes and looks away. He has found bravery that he did not know himself capable of, but he does not have the courage to look into the face of his own death.

The sound of the first slice makes him gasp - both the rasping of it, and the fact that it does not hurt. He looks down at Gabriel - Gabriel _kneeling_ at his feet. He has run the knife cleanly from the top of William's pant leg to the bottom. The fabric falls open, exposing the full expanse of skin beneath.

"What-" William starts before he remembers himself. Quickly, he bites his tongue.

Gabriel goes to his other side and repeats the slice, cutting through fabric until William stands entirely naked and exposed in front of him.

Satisfied, he stands back and looks over his charge. "You think I owe you more than I've given," Gabriel says.

"No, sir," William hurries. "No, you've... You've done more for me than I can-"

"Perhaps you would prefer I show you more of my gratitude," the angel muses. "Perhaps I should reward your faith. Is that it?"

William does not know how to answer safely. Confused and exposed, he just lowers his head.

"Go to the wall and stand," Gabriel says. William obeys. He will be whipped after all, but without the shield of his clothing. In some ways, it is better like this, no fabric sticking to his broken skin as he tries to tend to his wounds. But he is also exposed to more of the whip. His back has mostly healed, but a few fading scars remain, just waiting to be reopened.

"I suppose I can humor your desires," Gabriel decides. "This mortal form is a waste otherwise."

William does not understand, but he bites back questions. It is better not to ask, he has learned.

And he is answered quickly enough. Not by the whip or the dagger, but by Gabriel's body - Gabriel's naked, hard body - pressed against his back.

William goes stiff, and his breathing stops. "What...what are you-?"

Gabriel fills him with his cock. No warning is given. Gabriel simply takes. His shaft is slicked and ready, but lubricant means nothing with his size pushed into an untouched man.

William screams. It is the first time, through all of these meetings, that his response is this raw and terrible. He claws at the wall, trying desperately to separate himself from this pain.

Gabriel gives him a reprieve, but only long enough to angle himself and dig back in again. William cries out, scratching the wall so hard that his fingers bleed.

"This is what you wanted," Gabriel reminds him. His voice is eerily gentle. "Enjoy." With this, he takes his human, pounding into him with relish.

He holds William's shoulder to the wall, pinning him as his other hand reaches in front to grip his cock. Gabriel strokes him with a rough, greedy fist.

Tears stream down William's face, as hard as he tries to hold them back. He feels more screams in his throat, but they do not come out. He whimpers once. He groans.

Then, William goes silent. He lays his forehead against the wall, the stone cool against his sweating brow. William is trapped, powerless.

He is nothing next to Gabriel. _Mankind_ is nothing next to Gabriel. But his weakness will make him strong.

William's feelings evaporate - the shame of his virginity stolen, his consent ignored. Nothing matters, as long as he survives.

Blood stains the inside of his thighs. Gabriel's low grunts echo in his ears, more animal than man. His own cock is half-hard but unmoved by Gabriel's strokes. Perhaps the pain is too great, or his mind is too numb.

The heat of his cum is a jolting violation. William shudders when it fills him, but he does not make a sound.

"It is unnatural for your species to be so tense," Gabriel chides. With a shrug, the angel pulls out and observes himself, slick with cum and blood. "Father also made you feel shame. He made physical contact a sin, did He not? It is the meaning behind the act that makes it abhorrent, you understand. Not the act itself. Bodies are meant to be enjoyed." His mouth twitches. "There are benefits to the flesh of men. Very few, but some."

Gabriel pushes William's shoulder until he is forced to turn and face him. His eyes are red, tear tracks marking his face. But his stare is hard and cold.

Gabriel smiles breezily. "Do you hate me now, my orator?"

William shakes his head. "No."

"I don't believe you," Gabriel says. He drags his tongue across William's cheek, tasting the salt of his tears. "Have I not taught you honesty?"

"Thank you," William replies, quiet. "For everything."

Gabriel turns dark eyes towards him. His smile is gone.

When he kisses William, it is a reminder of his ownership. But it is also a reminder of his promise. He rips a hand through William's hair, letting him go just long enough for William to gasp before capturing his mouth again.

Gabriel's possession is delicious. His power, unmatched.

William's smile is hidden beneath the mouth of the angel. Gabriel's strength has no equal. But his promise is his weakness.

William's body may be broken. But he will survive. No matter what it takes.

*Fin*


End file.
